Scarecrow
by Crystalazer
Summary: A weak imitation of human life. Introspective piece. Angst...I guess?


**Scarecrow  
--**

**Disclaimer: **Je ne possède pas Naruto. (Disclaimer goes FRENCH!)

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Hatake Kakashi. A Scarecrow. An oversized doll stuffed with straw, used to scare away rooks when they came too close to crops. A farmer's tool. A weak imitation of human life.

A Scarecrow. Hatake Kakashi. A genius with a gaping hole where his heart should be, used to kill enemies when they came too close to the village. The Hokage's tool. A weak imitation of human life.

The scarecrow has no past, no present, and no future. His ridiculous face, drawn by an inexperienced child's hand, can be seen a mile away. Sightless eyes stare blankly at the sky, looking for crows and seeing nothing. Always seeing nothing, whether he wants to or not.

Kakashi has a past he wishes he could erase, a present that could disappear at every waking moment, even when he wasn't awake, and a future he simply can't see himself fitting into. No one alive has seen beneath his mask. His right eye takes in every detail available to the naked eye, and the bloody one hidden behind his hitae-ai sees everything in-between. Always seeing everything, whether he wants to or not.

The scarecrow will be of service until he cannot battle the elements anymore; when the seam along his side breaks and his stuffing scatters to the four winds. When his thatched hat flies off his head and lands in a neighbor's cornfield. When his face is erased by time, the burlap cloth used to construct his body wearing thin and rough. When the crows eventually figure out that he will not retaliate when they venture forth with caution, and grow bolder, and eventually, disregard him altogether. Then he is cast away and replaced, eventually forgotten forever.

Kakashi will be of service until he cannot battle the enemies he is put up against anymore; when he is all but torn apart, his side ripped open by a katana with blood and guts spilt o'er the battle ground. When his hitae-ai flies off his forehead and falls into the moist soil a few feet away, still glinting dully in the dusky morning light. When he finally lays still, stops twitching in agony, chest failing to draw another rattled breath, they are sure he is dead, and eventually rip off his mask, and they keep the secret of what lies beneath it to themselves before mutilating it, and thus, destroying it in an act of mockery, forever. Then they destroy the body, and he is mourned, but he will be replaced, and though his name will be carved into the memorial stone, in time, he will no longer be a person, merely a name.

The scarecrow's burlap feet never quite touch the ground, and his head lolls to the side as though fatigued. His arms are nailed to the ends of the wood to keep him hanging there, and his whole body has no support but the cross to which he is crucified. Five months and sixteen days. Whether it is fair that he is being punished for just _being _is still up in the air.

Kakashi's feet merely skim the ground as he runs across the flat stretch of land, his head thrust into the wind and forward and up, though fatigued. His arms stream limply behind him, held in place by invisible beams, and his whole body shakes from want of breath as he runs. Two days and fourteen hours. Whether he is running toward or _away _from his goal is still up in the air.

When it all comes down to it, being a scarecrow isn't all that great. That's why, when Kakashi tears his gaze away from the scarecrow propped up in the middle of a field and focuses on the road ahead, he'd rather be a ninja; little better, but this was what he was born and bred to do. And nothing, not even a stuffed man of straw who shared his namesake, could change that.

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_Fin_

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Voila! My first intro-spective piece in some time. The idea for this fic came up one night when I was preparing for bed. I picked up my notebook, wrote some random thoughts...and was completely inspired. So...bwah hah! This is my masterpiece of the...rest of the week! Probably. Until I get the next chapter of "Bren" up. Which probably won't be a masterpiece, but whatever.

_Love it? Hate it? I'll never know unless you **review!**_

P.S. I've been getting a lot of random reviews on really old stories, and even not-so-old ones. Make me happy and keep sending them in!


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